Get Off At The Right Stop
by YZY
Summary: Eric Cartman finds himself in an existential crisis because of a video in the smack middle of math class. Stan and Kyle are horrified and disgusted, and it may be up to Butters to tutor Eric's ass out of this particularly...sticky situation. Kenny is the only one unfazed, and if he gets to jerk off a couple of times along the way, he ain't gonna complain either.
1. Chapter 1

**SUMMARY: Eric Cartman has never been good at math, but he HAS figured out the answer to one of his life's equations. Butters Stotch + Embarrassing Video = Existential Crisis.**

**Now, there's another equation to solve the Existential Crisis, but this time, algebra isn't going to help.**

**Kyle and Stan are disgusted and horrified. It's up to Butters to tutor Cartman's stupid ass out of this particularly...sticky situation.**

**And Kenny is the only one unfazed. Watching his stupid friends run stupid circles around their inevitable humanity is the story of his fucking life. Might as well sit back and enjoy the show...and if he gets to jerk off a couple of times along the way, he ain't gonna complain.**

_A/N: This is me dipping my toes into the South Park fandom! I've recently fallen HARD for Bunny and Cartters and was surprised by the sparseness of Cartters fics. This is my first little contri bution, and it will be a relatively short, mostly lighthearted little multichapter. I'm aiming for 4 or 5; it may have more, but definitely less than 10. I have about a thousand fic ideas but I don't know how deep I want to dig myself into this rabbit hole. If this goes well, I might look into writing another, deeper, more complex South Park story. Or should I say...Bigger, Longer, and Uncut XD_

_Anyway, I suppose it goes without saying in the South Park fandom that there will be profanity. There will be controversy. There will be Eric Cartman. XD I definitely don't agree with Eric on...mostly anything, really-any religious, racial, or sexist content in this story is for the pure purpose of staying true to the character!_

* * *

**CHAPTER 1**

_If there's anything worse than sixth period algebra, it's sixth period algebra on a motherfucking Friday_, thinks Eric Cartman. It's fifty-two minutes of boring, mind-numbing torture wedged right between the drudgery of the school week and the sweet salvation of the weekend. The clock on the classroom wall seems to crawl just that much slower when freedom is actually in sight.

Cartman rests his head on his hand, his ears automatically filtering out Mr. Stedman's droning lecture about simplifying square roots, or whatever shitty topic it is today that Cartman gives no fucks about. His eyes roam around the classroom in search of something to keep himself entertained. He rolls his eyes as he skims over Kenny, who is still bundled in that stupid, orange, mouth-muffling parka of his. The poor bastard is the only student wearing headgear of any kind; hats are technically forbidden at school, but the teachers let Kenny get away with this (along with a lot of other shit)—probably out of pity since the kid's so fucking poor. Cartman wonders why Kenny doesn't spare himself the agony of sitting through class by just offing himself. Dude can die with impunity but what does he do? Waste his fucking lives in school. _Lame_!_  
_

Cartman toys with the idea of shooting a few spitballs at his immortal friend, but ultimately decides against it. Kenny's protective parka makes the effort futile. If only Stan and Kyle shared this period with Cartman! The brunet snickers under his breath as he imagines the stupid Jew pawing clumps of saliva and phlegm out of his faggy ginger hair.

Cartman continues his lazy perusal of his classmates, and it's only after a few long moments that he realizes he's stopped to stare at one classmate in particular, even though said classmate isn't really doing anything entertaining—in fact, he's doing the opposite: attentively listening to the teacher and jotting down notes like the dumbass dweeb he is. Butters is possibly the only kid in the world who would choose to go by a nickname even more ridiculous than his actual given name. Cartman observes Butters nodding along to Mr. Stedman's lecture, his hand, scabby from the way he constantly knocks his knuckles together, moving across his notebook almost nonstop. _ Good_, Cartman thinks distantly, _ I'll be able to copy off his notes later. _ Not that Cartman doubted Butters's note-taking capabilities in the first place—if anything, the blond boy is the one who is always all too eager to share his notes with Cartman, alongside giving a totally unwanted dose of math tutoring to the brunet every afternoon. Cartman only allows it to happen because it's as ample time as any to dish insults at his little minion. Besides, the look of Mr. Stedman's shocked expression when Cartman had actually gotten an A- on his last test had been totally worth it.

Cartman is trying to think of a way to catch Butters's attention so that they can ditch class together when he sees it. That tiny strain in Butters's body, that furrow in his brow, that little jiggle of his leg. Would you look at that, the little shit needs to use the potty. Cartman had clearly told Butters not to drink so much chocolate milk at lunch, but did the retard listen? Obviously not. And only _ Butters _ would display his need so obviously, like some incontinent little fourth-grader. Cartman studiously ignores the notion in his mind that to the untrained eye, it actually _ isn't _ so obvious—Cartman's just spent so much time around Butters that he's learned to read his body language like a Playboy magazine. Cartman decides to make a game out of how long it'll take for the blond to crack. Discreetly, Cartman fiddles with his phone in his pocket and starts the stopwatch. It reads 07:06.14 when Butters finally raises his hand.

"Do you have a question, Butters?" Mr. Stedman says, turning away from the chalkboard.

"Erm, well, yes I—I was just wonderin' if I could use the bathroom," Butters stutters in that weird, slightly Southern lilt of his. Some girls in the back of the classroom giggle, and whether it's because they think the stupid crack in Butters's voice is laughable or because they think he's cute enough to fuck into next Friday, Cartman has no idea, but for some reason he has the sudden urge to slap the smiles off their stupid faces._  
_

Mr. Stedman rolls his eyes. Butters is literally the only student left in the whole school who still bothers to ask permission. "You didn't have to announce it to the whole class, Butters, this is high school, not kindergarten," the teacher sighs. "Just go."

"Why thank you, Mr. Stedman sir!" Butters chirps, shuffling out of his seat. The girls in the back of the classroom start giggling again, and Butters casts them them a confused look, oblivious to the fact that their laughter is at his expense. Several students in the front of the classroom turn their heads to roll their eyes at the bitches' commotion, including Kenny. But instead of glaring at the girls as expected, Kenny looks straight at Cartman, pinning him with a knowing stare. Despite the fact that most of his face is obscured from Cartman's view, Cartman has known Kenny for so long that the latter's hidden smirk couldn't be any clearer. Cartman feels his rankles rising.

"The fuck you lookin' at, fuckface?" Cartman barks at Kenny, effectively distracting everyone from Butters and the giggling girls. Kenny rolls his eyes and says something, but Cartman is too far away to hear the muffled mumbo jumbo properly.

"Eric, do you have something to share with the class?" Mr. Stedman asks impatiently.

"Oh, I wasn't going to share, but if you insist," Cartman says wickedly, and he can already see the regret in Stedman's eyes for having asked, "I would also like to, hrm, use the bathroom. Oh, and in case you were wondering, it's totally number two. In fact, it's probably diarrhea."_  
_

"Eric!" Stedman cried, sounding disgusted. "You don't have bathroom privileges, young man!" Oh, right. The school still remembered that time Cartman used needing to go the restroom as an excuse to attempting to set fire to the principal's car.

"Oh really, Mr. Stedman?" Cartman challenges. _As if a bunch of school administrator pussies can stop me_. He strides to the back of the classroom, right next to the stupid girls who were giggling at Butters. "Because all that diarrhea is about _this_ close to coming out of my asshole." With zero shame, he pulls down his pants and positions his ass right above one of the girls' desks. "Ohhhhh yeah. I can totally feel it comin'. It's totally gonna like, explode out of my asshole like a motherfuckin' rocket. Is that what you want, Mr. Stedman? You want my diarrhea to spray all over your classroom walls? Is that what you do when the students go home, you stay in your classroom and jerk off to the idea of your students _shitting_ all over your motivational posters?"

The girls are now screaming and cowering as far away from Cartman's asshole as they possibly can, and Cartman takes vindictive pleasure in their discomfort, letting out a few smelly farts for good measure. "That's it, ladies. You know I used to have HIV, Mr. Stedman? Oh, I bet the press is gonna have a fucking field day when they find out a bunch of sluts got AIDS in your classroom."

As Stedman and the rest of the class descend into chaos, Cartman forces himself to maintain a serious expression even though he's guffawing on the inside. He knows there was no need to cause all this commotion just to convince the teacher to let him go to the bathroom (which, for the record, he doesn't actually need to use), but what can he say? He's an asshole who loves mutiny and making people suffer.

The only one in class who appears unaffected is Kenny, who maintains his smirk and eye contact with Cartman. Cartman feels his good humor leaving him again. "Son of a bitch," he mutters, already bored of his classmates' antics and tired of Kenny's gaze. "Screw you guys..."

He removes his ass from the girl's desk and pulls up his pants, swaggering out of the classroom. The hallways are empty—Butters has probably already made it to the bathroom, oblivious to the chaos he left behind in class. Cartman makes it all the way to the boys' room without being disturbed. He loiters outside the door for a few moments, briefly debating whether or not he should go in. He ultimately decides to be benevolent for once and allow Butters to do his business in peace (part of the reason may be due to the traumatic experience in middle school during which Cartman accidentally startled Butters while the latter was peeing, causing him to flail wildly and spray the both of them with urine). In the meantime, Cartman considers the best approach to convincing Butters to ditch the remaining half hour of school and go fuck shit up somewhere else. Threatening the kid had stopped working in middle school, when Butters had managed to adopt Professor Chaos's spine in regular day-to-day life.

Cartman whistles inanely as he waits for Butters to finish, but minutes drag by and no blond comes out of the bathroom. Impatient, Cartman presses his ear against the door. Wendy walks out of the AP World History classroom in that prissy way of hers and enters the girls' bathroom, throwing Cartman a look of deep dislike on the way.

"Creep," she mutters, glowering condescendingly at the way Cartman is pressed against the door.

"Bitch," Cartman returns loudly, flipping her the bird.

It's only when Wendy comes out of the girls' bathroom (delivering yet _ another _ glare at Cartman; _ sooooo _ fucking predictable) that Cartman decides something's fishy here. It's a plain and simple fact that boys don't take as long to use the toilet as girls do—even the faggy boys like Butters...unless Butters is taking one hell of a shit in there. In which case, Butters better wipe his damn ass because Cartman is tired of waiting.

Cartman is just about ready to barge into the bathroom and drag Butters out when something—call it instinct or whatever—comes over him, and he stalls. Experience already dictates that he shouldn't startle Butters mid-business, and yet he finds his own pudgy hands bracing the door gently and pushing it open as silently as he possibly can. The janitor must have oiled the hinges recently, because it doesn't even creak.

With one cursory glance, Cartman is able to determine that Butters isn't standing next to any of the urinals or sinks. _ Is _ he taking a shit after all? There are four stalls in the school bathroom, and the doors to the first three are obviously open.

The fourth is very conspicuously _ shut_.

And Cartman can hear Butters inside, panting softly.

Cartman has no illusions about what Butters is doing. Cartman isn't _ stupid_, and he's also a normal, healthy teenage boy with a penis. Well...in retrospect, most certainly not a _ normal _ teenage boy, and certainly not that _ healthy _ either...but the fact that he has a well-functioning adolescent dick is not disputable. He also knows that Butters's particular kind of heavy breathing at the moment is most certainly _ not _ a result of expelling feces through the butthole.

As if in a trance, Cartman silently sidles across the bathroom floor towards Butters's stall. He winces when his shoe scuffs the wall and makes a dull thud, but Butters doesn't seem to notice because the rhythm of his breathing doesn't change.

Cartman positions himself carefully outside the stall so that Butters doesn't see his feet. For once, the brunet concedes to himself that perhaps he should lose some weight, because hiding in the shadows would be much easier if he were slimmer. Still, Butters fails to notice his friend's bulky feet underneath the door. _  
_

_ The fuck am I doing? _ Cartman wonders to himself. This should be the part where he hightails the fuck outta here before he witnesses something completely gross. Or, he should be barging into Butters's stall and dunking that silly, blond, horny head into the toilet to teach the kid a lesson about masturbating in a place as public as school. Instead, he's inching towards the crack in the stall door like a motherfucking peeping Tom. Being the selfish asshole that he is, Cartman isn't at all hesitant about doing this for the sake of Butters' privacy; it's just that voyeurism (on a boy, no less) somehow seems, even out of all the things Cartman's ever done, like a personal low.

_ It's not like I haven't seen Butters's schlong before _ , Cartman rationalizes. _ I've even put it in my mouth. _ But he quickly shuts down that line of thought. The combination of the words seeing-Butter's-schlong-and-putting-it-in-my-mouth is making something stir in pit of Cartman's belly.

But then, Cartman is struck with the idea of how to spin the situation to his own benefit. After all, he never _did_ properly get back at Butters for the Britney Spears video incident back in fourth grade, and that was, quite possibly, Cartman's worst humiliation ever (never mind the fact that Cartman had been the one who started it, what with A.W.E.S.O.M.-O and a thousand prior transgressions inflicted upon Butters's person). Anyway, r_evenge, motherfucker_! Granted, years have passed since then, but revenge _is_ a dish best served cold or however the fuck the saying goes. Careful not to make any sound rustling his clothing, Cartman removes his phone from his pocket. He closes the clock application he'd opened earlier and turns the camera on. He licks his parched lips, hastily wipes his sweaty fingers on his pants and, with slightly trembling hands, holds his phone up to the crack and starts recording.

The screen of Cartman's phone provides him with a much better view of Butters's exposed skin. And golly, is it _ exposed _. Butters long ago abandoned the practice of pulling his pants all the way down and shirt all the way up when taking a piss, but apparently he hasn't abandoned the practice when jerking off in the privacy of a stall. The boy might as well be naked, save his shoes and socks and the clothing bunched underneath his armpits and around his ankles. Butters is facing away completely from Cartman, so the latter can't see any dick, but Butters's fine, round white ass is level with Cartman's vantage point and only a few inches away. Only when bombarded with so much of it so close does Cartman realize for the first time how pale Butters's skin is. It's probably an unhealthy symptom of all the time he spends confined to his room due to the Stotches' crackpot parenting, but all Cartman can think of at the moment is how Stephen Stotch managed to breed a soft, tender, delicious-looking piece of meat. Butters's paleness, combined with his shock-blond hair and startling blue eye (the left one is milky and unseeing from the ninja star accident, and therefore doesn't count), makes Butters almost offensively Aryan, if not for the fact that Butters is inoffensiveness incarnate.

"Hey there, Mr. Wiener," Butters mumbles as he jerks his hand back and forth at a moderately fast pace. It's completely hidden from view, but Cartman can hear the soft squelching noises of Butters's fingers gripping his cock. "Aren't'cha awful happy today, little feller?

"Awww, yes, Mister—Mister Butters sir," Butters replies himself in an indulgent voice, while still making the effort to deepen his voice slightly. Let it not be said that Butters doesn't take roleplaying a bit too seriously. "I'm just—_ecstatic_, today."

Cartman tries his best to steady his camera. His body is shaking, but it's not out of suppressed amusement. He knows that he _ should _ find this funny. What kind of retard still calls dicks _ wieners _ ? What kind of loser talks to himself while jerking off? Even worse, what kind of dork talks to his own goddamned penis and gives it an honorific? In _ high _ school?

_ This is comedy gold, Cartman_, Cartman tells himself. _ Wait till I put this on the Internet. South Park's gonna have a fucking field day and Butters'll be the ball_. Cartman feels his gut tighten in response to his internal dialogue, and it feels like someone's lighting a match inside his pants. What he _ still _ doesn't feel is any urge to laugh.

"You oughter be ashamed of yourself, Mister Wiener," Butters says to his penis in his "normal" voice, oblivious to the discomfort he's causing the friend who's only a few feet away. Somehow, Butters always manages to make Cartman suffer the most when he's actually unaware of the latter's presence. "You're makin' me miss Mr. Stedman's lecture. Eric's gonna be mighty angry if I miss the stuff that's gonna be on the test."

Cartman can't help it; he lets out a squeak when he hears his own name uttered in Butters's gravelly, aroused voice. He's horrified with the possibility that Butters might have heard him, and even more horrified that such a girly-sounding sound managed to escape his own lips. He's gonna have to edit out that part of the video.

Cartman doesn't have time to worry about the latter, though, because it seems that Butters had indeed heard him. The pale blond stiffens and turns his head slightly, eyes alert and ears straining. Cartman stuffs his fist into his mouth and holds his breath.

Butters's head is turned at an angle at which Cartman can now see a film of glistening sweat on the boy's white, mostly unblemished face. Of their entire age group, Butters had been the most successful at avoiding teenage acne. A few strands of blond hair are stuck to his forehead, and for a few breathtaking seconds Cartman is convinced that he is looking at threads of gold set upon white marble.

Wh...what the actual fuck. That...that had to be a trick of the light or something.

Butters intently listens for disturbances for several seconds longer before turning away, taking the long silence as confirmation that the noise was just a fluke and his privacy remains uninterrupted. If this were any other situation, Cartman would've ripped into Butters for his shitty vigilance, but the brunet concedes that it's most likely not so easy to snoop for intruders when one is nearly naked with a hard wet cock out and flopping about.

Cartman's squeak seemed to have spooked Butters, though, because when the the golden-haired boy resumes jacking his dick, he does it at twice the previous speed, seeming intent upon finishing before he gets interrupted for real. Cartman stares as Butters's pearly white buttcheeks clench from the pleasure.

"F-f-fuck that Eric," Butters growls with surprising aggression, and Cartman actually has to bite down on his own knuckles to keep from making noise. "Fuck Eric, a-and his math notes, h-h-he can lick all my—all of Butters' creamy goo for all I care."

And Cartman—Cartman _ remembers _. That strangely intoxicating flavor of grape and bleach that is "Butters' creamy goo". Cartman had sipped it out of a jar the last time; now he wonders how it would taste, fresh and warm from the source. _  
_

"You're a smart little rascal, Butters, you don't need Stedman's—_motherfucking_—help—to teach Eric how to solve an equation, nnngh," Butters groans, sounding equal parts angry and aroused now. "Y-you're—you're so good at doin' math, Butters, just like you're good at chokin' your _ fuckin' _ chicken."_  
_

Cartman can barely believe what he's hearing. He's no stranger to jerking himself off, but whenever he did it, it was no work of art. _ Passionate _ masturbation in it of itself sounds like a hilarious fucking oxymoron, yet here he is, a first-hand witness. If Cartman didn't know better, he'd say Butters was deliberately putting on a show. He doesn't know why he's so surprised by the display. After all, if there's anything Cartman knows about Butters, it's that Butters _ never _ does anything half-heartedly.

Butters's breathing is growing ragged; he continues to mutter to his own penis, but the garble is becoming unintelligible. Cartman is somehow reminded of the muffled ramblings of a drunk, but Butters's is much more concentrated. _ Purposeful_. Despite himself, Cartman finds himself straining his ears to hear whether Butters utters his name again. From what he just witnessed, Cartman has no way of telling whether Butters is sexually attracted to him, or if Cartman's name had slipped out due to circumstance. Prior to today, Cartman hadn't truly given a fuck; Butters had always been a whiny little fag anyway, and if the blond was attracted to Cartman specifically—well, that only made for an even more loyal minion, and ultimately played to Cartman's favor.

But right now, Cartman isn't satisfied with maybes. He wants to _ know_. He is practically restraining himself from making his presence known to Butters, just to see if the latter would blow his load at the sight of him.

Butters parts his legs slightly wider as his hand speeds to a mad pace. He throws his head back, and Cartman can just barely make out the top of Butters's forehead and the tips of his gleaming eyelashes.

Then, Butters's entire body trembles and spazzes. The boy quickly turns towards the toilet and ejaculates. His lips are parted as he lets out a long, pleasured exhale. For the first time today, Cartman is afforded a view of Butters's schlong. It looks like Butters really does "choke his chicken", because his scabby hand is wrapped so tightly around his cock that it looks painful. His balls are pulled taut against his body as he spurts a steady stream of white cum. Cartman can't help but feel that it's a waste for all that _ creamy goo _to be going down the toilet.

It takes a few long moments for Butters to fully finish, and Cartman is reminded that this is the same kid who managed, as a _ fourth grader_, to produce enough semen to make an entire business enterprise out of it. Puberty certainly hasn't diminished his production capabilities.

Butters stays panting over the toilet bowl after he's done, waiting for his cock to soften. His eyes are hooded with content, and there are splotches of red coloring his cheeks. Any sign of aggression he exhibited while masturbating is completely gone. Cartman's grown up enough to know that yes, Butters is more than capable of anger (scarily so), but he just never pegged Butters to be the angry _ horny _ type.

Cartman is getting really tired of how long Butters is taking just standing there. He wishes the blond would at least just pull his pants up. The self-satisfied expression on Butters's face is also pissing Cartman off, because it only serves to remind Cartman how much he himself is _ not _ satisfied. The spark of warmth in his pants has turned into a full-blown California wildfire by now, and there's no way Cartman can alleviate his discomfort without making a some kind of sound that would immediately give his hiding spot away. The friction of his boxers rubbing against it in his tightly-zipped pants _ really _ isn't helping douse the flames, either.

_ The reaction's entirely biological_, Cartman repeats to himself like a mantra. _ It's like watching a porno on the weird side of the Internet. It makes you laugh out loud and grosses you out but by the end of the day you end up hard. _

Eventually, Butters begins cleaning himself up. He tears off some toilet paper and wipes his hands with it. Then he tears off some more and starts wiping his dick.

"Let's get you cleaned up, Mr. Wiener," Butters says affectionately. It's immature and stupid, and it's making Cartman even more...uncomfortable. _ Biological, bio-_fucking_-logical! _he insists to himself._  
_

After what seems like a ridiculously long time spent pampering his softening cock, Butters finally, _ finally _ lets his shirt down and pulls up his pants. He tosses the soiled paper into the toilet and pulls the flush.

Taking advantage of the noisy sound, Cartman quickly ducks into the third stall and climbs onto the toilet. He pulls his feet up onto the seat just as Butters exits his stall. Butters walks right past Cartman's stall without the slightest inkling that someone might be inside it.

Cartman curses under his breath as Butters takes his time washing his hands like a goddamn girl, singing "If You Leave Me Now" all the while. Butters has been obsessed with that song since elementary school. Cartman rolls his eyes when Butters's voice cracks on the high notes and wonders if it would kill the kid to keep his mouth shut for five fuckin' minutes.

The moment Butters exits the bathroom, Cartman slumps off the toilet and onto the floor in a heavy, undignified heap, no longer bothering to stay quiet. He reaches out his arm to slam and lock the stall door shut. He'd get out of the goddamn bathroom, but he can't—on account of the gargantuan (if he may say so himself) bulge pulsing in his pants. He glances at his phone, which is still recording. He quickly ends the video.

"Fuuuuuck," he groans. "Fuck!" He's tempted to bash his head against the wall until his boner goes away, or, more preferably, he dies. He's uncomfortable and confused and has never envied Kenny's power more. Unlike Butters, Cartman is not at all happy to see his own wiener, and since he's not doing anything at all to relieve its tension, Cartman's pretty sure his wiener isn't happy to see him, either._  
_

Cartman briefly considers using the next five, ten minutes to let his penis deflate on its own, but that would mean that Butters had inadvertently gotten him hard for absolutely no reason at all and that rubs Cartman the wrong way. "Fuck this, I do what I want," he mutters, standing up and unzipping his fly in one rough motion.

He tries to let his imagination wander as he spits in his hand and pulls out his hard cock. For a few minutes he thinks of Wendy's tits, only because he knows it would make the bitch mad as fuck if she knew that Eric Cartman was using her as masturbation material. But he soon grows bored of it, so he instead thinks about the look on Scott Tenorman's face at the precise moment he realized he was eating his parents. That shit was fucking _ amazing _. It gets him going again pretty quickly, but then it gets old just as fast. Discouraged, Cartman looks down at his hand moving back and forth across his dick and is struck by the monotony of the routine.

_ No way. No way in fucking hell am I gonna talk to myself like a stupid schizo while I beat it. That's Butters' job. _

Butters_.  
_

Aw_, fuck. _

Recollections of Butters's marble white buttocks and gravelly voice come flooding back into Cartman's mind. Mentally, he tries to stop it, but Cartman can already feel his hand automatically speeding up, and it actually starts to really feel _ good _. Then he remembers the newly-recorded video on his phone. Drunk on sexual frustration, Cartman turns his phone down to the lowest volume and plays it. He holds his phone up to his ear so that he can hear Butters's voice. He starts jacking himself to the rhythm of Butters's heavy breathing.

And then he cums, suddenly and violently, when Butters utters his name.

"Fuck!" Cartman swears aloud.

He cannot fucking believe what he just did. He just orgasmed, at school, in the middle of the school day, to _Butters _ fucking _ Stotch_. There's really no way he can spin this tale to make it seem any less faggy, or pathetic. Horrified, Cartman stares down at the phone in his hand like it's cursed.

"Cursed," he breathes. That's it, this video is fucking cursed. The government probably installed some weird voodoo tech into people's phones and is using them to control the population's libidos. Cartman's finger hovers over the "Delete" button, prepared to wash his hands of the video once and for all and put this entire episode behind him.

But he's reminded of why he took the video in the first place. It there's one thing about Eric Cartman, it's that he _ really _ hates leaving business unfinished once he's started it. Scowling, he removes his finger from the trash can symbol, moving instead to "Edit". He cuts out the part of the video where he'd startled Butters with his girlish squeak. When he shares the final product on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram—PornHub, too, for good measure—Butters's humiliation will be so complete that the little turd will probably kill himself or something, and then Cartman will truly have his hands clean of the aggravating blond.

But then Cartman envisions everyone—Wendy, Bebe, Jimmy, Clyde, Tweek, Craig, Kenny, Stan, the Jewish bitch, and some middle-aged pedophilic fag eating potato chips in their den—with their eyes glued to their computer screens as they listen to Butters growling _ Eric's _ name—and Cartman doesn't feel any vindictive pleasure at all. He feels a wave of vindictive _ possessiveness_.

So he decides not to post the video on the Internet, either.

Fed up, Cartman jams his phone into his pocket and hastily cleans himself up. He bangs the stall door open and leaves the bathroom without washing his hands, because he doesn't have fucking OCD.

He doesn't bother returning to Stedman's class—not that he'd ever intended to. However, he _ had _ intended to ditch with his pathetic blond sidekick by his side. But Cartman ends up sneaking off school campus all by his lonesome. He desperately yearns for the company of someone to distract him from his own thoughts, but who besides Butters would—or could—fill that role?

He's in no mood to throw shit at hobos or anything else. Cartman goes straight home.

* * *

**Butters Stotch **2:13pm

Hey Eric, I couldn't help but notice that u were missing for the second half of algebra today we learned about multiplying and dividing square roots! U still coming over later to study?

**Butters Stotch** 2:37pm

Just got home :)

**Butters Stotch** 3:23pm

Mom's makin cookies :P I know u like choc chip

**Butters Stotch** 5:02pm

Ure bein awful quiet today

Did something happen?

**Butters Stotch** 5:15pm

Oh hamburgers are you up to something bad Eric?

Wait don't tell me nothin about it!

I ain't helping you this time

I really mean it

I really rally men it

*really mean

**Butters Stotch** 6:28pm

You're still welcome to come over Eric

Mom's making dinner and it'll be ready in 15

Dad's coming home at 8:30 tho u have to leave by then or I'm grounded

Again :/

**Butters Stotch** 8:43pm

Ok dad just got back so I guess I'll see u over the weekend

**Butters Stotch **9:53pm

Eric?_  
_

Cartman groans when his phone pings again at midnight. Kyle, Stan, Kenny, and Butters combined have sent him enough texts over the course of the afternoon and evening to blow up his phone. Butters and Kenny are especially bad, since the two of them only got their phones recently (Butters because his dad is insane, Kenny because he's so fucking poor); they run their text messages like they run their mouths. Cartman has studiously ignored them all.

With a groan, he rolls over in bed (which he's barely left since coming home from school) and grabs his phone from the nightstand. He hopes the latest message isn't Butters again. Every time Butters's name shows up on his screen, he's reminded of the video still sitting innocently in his Camera Roll. Not that he hasn't been thinking about it already.

Speak of the devil; it turns out to be Butters after all, who has sent Cartman several jpegs containing all the notes he took in Stedman's class today. His handwriting is cramped and slanted, but neat. He's labeled the notes with three different-colored highlighters. One would never be able to tell that Butters had left in the middle of the lesson to go masturbate. It's sickening. Cartman rolls his eyes and is about to toss his phone away when Butters starts typing again..

**Butters Stotch** 12:03am

Sweet dreams eric

In a moment of weakness, Cartman feels a pang of pity for the kid and decides not to leave him hanging for the night.

**Eric Cartman** 12:04am

Wat r u, my wife?

It's neither insult nor assurance, and it's only after he's hit "Send" that it occurs to Cartman that he should have used literally any other word other than "wife". He could've said "butler", or "stalker", or even "slave". He wants to slap himself.

Butters doesn't reply, and even though Cartman knows that it's probably because Stephen Stotch enforces a strict No-Phones-After-Midnight policy on his son, he can't but feel slightly uneasy.

* * *

_A/N: Please let me know what you think in your reviews! I can take your shit; I'm not easily offended. I DO watch South Park, after all._

_Just a few remarks about Butters's character: to me, underneath his childlike innocence, Butters is actually one of the more complex and darker characters on South Park. Cartman's easily the most evil, but his vileness is on pretty obvious display. I'm not going to get into the darker side of Butters in this fic, but I did make some allusions to the fact that our sweet little sunshine may not be all that he seems._


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2**

Cartman has never been so horny and sexually frustrated in his entire life.

Most people at school don't notice anything different about him, since Cartman was never much more pleasant than a porcupine in the first place. Besides, most students' interactions with him involve avoiding him or yelling at him—and his tongue returns their barbs just as ruthlessly as it always has. A few students make offhand comments about how Cartman seems a little distracted, but they assume he's busy plotting South Park's next big scandal and don't think twice about it.

Kyle and Stan have known Cartman for too long not to have an inkling that something's up, but they've long since evolved past the point of giving a shit. As long as Cartman's PMSing doesn't affect them, they know well enough to leave it alone. Of course, that doesn't stop Cartman's and Kyle's constant arguments about Jews, fags, and just about anything controversial. World War 4 and Armageddon could happen simultaneously and those two would still be at each other's throats.

Unsurprisingly, Butters is turning out to be the real problem—after all, he's the cause of Cartman's inner turmoil in the first place. The thing about Butters is that even though he's stupid and ignorant about how the world works because of his sheltered upbringing, he's still incredibly attuned to human emotions. And because of all the time he's spent specifically with Cartman, Butters doesn't need five seconds to look at Cartman's face on Monday morning to figure out that something's wrong.

"Hiya, Eric," Butters greets as Cartman grumpily shoves his backpack into his locker. "I didn't see you all weekend."

Butters never ended up replying Cartman's text about being his "wife". The two had exchanged a few idle messages over the weekend, but despite Butters's multiple invitations to have lunch or dinner at the Stotch home, they hadn't met up—which was weird, considering how hard it is _not_ to run into somebody in their tiny little Colorado town.

"Yeah, and that must be why I'm feeling so fucking peachy," Cartman retorts.

"But you have dark circles under your eyes."

"Well, maybe they're black eyes I got from punching myself in the face just thinking about having to see _your _pathetic ass."

"No," Butters insists stubbornly. "I know what _real_ black eyes look like, Eric, 'cause of all the times _I_ got hurt 'cause of_ you_." He smiles, looking harmless if not for the intense scrutiny radiating from his good eye. Cartman groans loudly.

"Look, it's like, seven in the morning, and I really don't need anyone to suck my dick right now," he snaps, even though he personally thinks that a blowjob right there and then would be nicely de-stressifying. "So you can run along now, little bitch. Shoo. Shoo!"

"What the hell's goin' on with you, Eric?" Butters asks flatly.

"Why the hell don't you do us both a favor and buy yourself a ball gag and shut the hell up?"

Anyone else might've huffed, stormed off—perhaps even attempted to punch Cartman in the face—but Butters simply narrows his eyes at Cartman until the brunet feels like squirming in discomfort. Just as Butters opens his mouth to say something else, Cartman turns on his heel and stomps away towards his first period class, which he thankfully doesn't share with Butters. The image of Butters with a ball gag in his face is stirring up that familiar warmth in Cartman's gut again.

At that moment, Kenny suddenly appears, seemingly out of fucking nowhere. "Bad morning?" the orange bastard asks Cartman, voice so full of smugness that Cartman refuses to deign to respond, simply grabbing Kenny by the drawstrings of his parka and shoving him into the nearest locker. Kenny, unfazed, fails to even cry out; instead, muffled laughter can be heard through the thin metal door of the locker, which turns out to be Jimmy's. The cripple promptly hobbles up and lets Kenny out, snuffing out Cartman's amusement as quickly as it came. Then the cripple whacks Cartman in the shin with his crutch, putting the brunet in great pain.

But what's Cartman to do? He's having an increasingly difficult time separating the nearly-naked, horny, angry-growling Butters in the video on his phone with the smiling, passive-aggressive, mild-mannered Butters he has to deal with on a daily basis in real life. And the Butters in the video quite consistently causes a _biological reaction _in Cartman. Every time Cartman is in Butters's vicinity, he has to force his eyes not to drift towards the boy's Creamy Goo Factory—in other words, Butters's crotch. Even then, it's become something of a challenge not to become fixated on the kid's pearly skin, or golden hair, or twatty mouth. Stedman's period of algebra has become the fucking worst, because Cartman is usually bored as all hell during that period, and with nothing better to do his gaze always manages to inadvertently drift over to Butters, as if there are magnets inside his fucking eyeballs or something.

As the week progresses, Cartman takes to trying to avoid Butters, but quickly finds out that the endeavor is akin to escaping quicksand: the harder he tries, the more he sinks. Whenever Butters approaches him, Cartman finds himself reacting standoffishly as a defense mechanism, which in turn makes Butters suspicious and attempt to prod Cartman even more. It's not the first time the brunet has tried to avoid someone, but it's the first time he's failed at it so badly. Probably because _he's _usually the one being avoided by everyone, and also because Butters is the one who always and unequivocally sticks with Cartman, even when everyone else gives up on him. In the past, Cartman didn't mind because he was always able to spin Butters's loyalty to his advantage. He never thought it would come back to bite him in the ass like this.

The one thing Cartman's successfully managed is to avoid Butters's afternoon tutoring sessions. He tells Butters that he's busy at home preparing a surprise for his mom's birthday, because Butters is a sucker for sickening, saccharine stories like that.

"Aww, Eric, that's awful sweet of you," Butters replies with crinkled eyes and palms pressed together, finally backing down from his incessant torrent of _what-the-heck-is-goin'-on-with-you-Eric-you're-bein'-a-real-asshole, _and _if-somethin's-botherin'-you-you-know-you-can-tell-me_. "I knew you had it in you, buddy. Give Ms. Liane _all_ my love."

Cartman almost scoffs; only Butters would fall for a ploy like this one. What teenage boy actually gives a fuck about his parents? Liane Cartman's birthday really _is_ coming up soon, but Cartman isn't planning _shit_. He'll give the bitch a box of condoms like he does every year, and only because he doesn't want to end up with another half-sibling. One Scott Tenorman is bad enough. And like _hell_ is he passing on Butters's love to her, he's keeping that shit for himse—

_Wait, what? _

...No, instead of planning for his mom's birthday, Cartman spends his afternoons alone in his room—with the door bolted and padlocked for good measure—with his dick in one hand and phone in the other. He's got it turned to Airplane Mode so that none of his bastard friends can disturb him mid-business and kill his boner. He goes to PornHub and looks for the most extreme gay videos featuring the whitest of blond boys, and most of them don't make him bat an eye. _ Good_, he thinks, _that means I'm mostly not gay_. Some of the S&M clips actually make Cartman laugh out loud, because those silly bastards clearly have no idea what sadism _really _means.

Then there are some clips that actually _do _succeed at riling him up a little, but Cartman doesn't think too hard on that: it's porn, after all. It's basically rigged to make you cum, even if you don't like it. But whenever Cartman's teetering on the edge of an orgasm, panting like a dog and delirious in the head, he somehow ends up swiping through his Camera Roll again and playing the video from Friday. In the privacy of his bedroom, he can turn the volume all the way up.

When he finally orgasms and regains his brains, he can't turn off the video fast enough. _ It's no different than watching porn_, he tells himself. _In fact, it's a whole lot tamer_. But watching Butters is different from watching porn, because the latter would never leave him feeling so mentally exhausted, disgusted, embarrassed, a tiny little bit guilty, and insanely desirous for _more_.

Stedman's test on square roots falls on Wednesday, and Cartman gets a D, though it has less to do with missing his afternoon study sessions with Butters than it has to do with how distracted he is with the way Butters thoughtfully chews his bottom lip during the exam. When Butters catches up to him after class and asks how he did, Cartman shrugs like he doesn't give a shit, but he is surprised to find that he actually feels ashamed about receiving the lowest possible passing grade despite the blond's painstaking, sickeningly color-coded notes. It's the first time Cartman's actually feels bad about getting a bad grade—caring about grades is for pussies like Stan and Kyle, after all.

It's Friday again. It's been a full week. Cartman plans to ditch sixth period and go straight home. He feels stupid for ducking behind a locker when he sees Butters walking towards Stedman's classroom in the hallway, but he doesn't want to risk Butters prying about why he's ditching again. He's so invested in avoiding the blond thorn-in-his-side that he fails to notice another annoying blond creeping up to him.

"Have fun, dude," Kenny says lowly without even looking at Cartman. He ducks out of the way before Cartman can grab him and shove him into a locker again, slipping into Stedman's classroom right behind Butters.

Fucking hell, that _bastard_. Cartman really needs to kill Kenny one of these days.

Cartman half-jogs the short way home, eager for the privacy of his bedroom, and ends up winded as fuck. He blames South Park's high elevation—the air must be thin up here. In addition to the tightness in his chest, Cartman can already feel the tightness in his pants.

He stops dead in his tracks halfway up the stairs of his home when he is hit with a gross realization: _he's becoming addicted to jerking off. _

His hormonal teenage body is raging at him to not give a shit and jerk off anyways, but Cartman's powerful sense of pride chooses this moment to reign over. With a few deep breaths, he turns around and heads back downstairs, settling instead on the living room couch.

_If I'm going to get addicted to anything, it's going to be heroin, because that would be fucking _awesome_, and it's going to be because I fucking _chose _to get addicted, _Cartman thinks to himself. Because more than Cartman loves masturbating, he hates not being in control more.

He rests his head in his hands and begins analyzing his predicament critically.

One week out of control has been too long. Time to find a way to fix this.

* * *

**KB, EC, SM & KM**

**Eric** 3:07pm

Oh my god guys get ur butts over here

There's something important n like I need u guys right now

**Kenny** 3:14pm

Ya ok I guess? sure

Kyles still basketball practice tho

**Eric** 3:15pm

Basketball practice my ass

Kyle

stop sucking marsh dick n get over here

**Kenny** 3:19pm

Nope just got to the basketball court n no dicksjcking unfortunately

Kyle says hi or something like that

Kenny sends a selfie of himself sitting on the school gymnasium rafters. Members of the school basketball team can be seen in the background. Kyle's stupid ginger hair sticks out like a sore thumb as he glares at the camera with two middle fingers held up in front of his ugly mug.

**Kenny** 3:19pm

Token looks like he's getting some tonite tho

Nichole's right next to me rn watching him play

N I can practically smell the cream in her pantiws

*panties

;D

**Eric** 3:19pm

Don't u dare fuck her you greasy orange slut

Cupid me almost died for tokole

**Kenny** 3:20pm

Cupid m

Wait wtf

Wait no don't tell me, u fucking weirdo

**Eric** 3:20pm

Go fuck urself

**Eric** 3:23pm

Wat time does Kyle finish suckin his basketball buddies dicks

**Kenny** 3:25pm

4

**Kyle** 3:24pm

For the love of God fatass, I am NOT sucking anyone's fucking dick

**Kyle** 3:25pm

Stop interrupting our practice

**Eric** 3:25pm

Don't insult god with your dirty Jewish mouth, brofovskj

**Kyle** 3:25pm

It's Broflovski you fucking idiot, you've only known me for more than 10 years

Never mind, it's probably your fat fingers that keep squishing all the keys at once

And you do realize that Jews, Muslims, and Christians share the same God, right?

**Kyle** 3:26pm

Kenny, if you're just gonna sit there and let the fatass harass me, then go the hell away

Shit I gotta go back to practice

**Eric** 3:26pm

If that's what helps you slep at nite, cocksucker

Have fun suxking cock

**Kenny** 3:26pm

XD

XD

XD

XD

XD

XD

**Eric** 3:27pm

DUDE

**Kenny** 3:28pm

Wait so how illegal is the thing u need us for

**Eric** 3:30pm

not every brilliant idea requires breaking the law u fucking criminal

Also where the hell is satan

*Stan

**Kenny** 3:30pm

LOLOLOL

also, axcurate

**Stan** 3:40pm

Jesus Christ you fuckers are unbelievable

I'm at butters house

**Eric** 3:43pm

Butters

Why

**Stan** 3:45pm

We paired up for music project

**Eric** 3:45pm

He didn't tell me he was getting invovled in stupid shit with u

**Stan** 3:45pm

Why shoul;d he have lol

Fyi He has his own life outside of you

**Eric** 3:45 pm

If butters is involved for music ur definitely gettin an A

Y do u still need to convene at his house

**Kenny** 3:45pm

Wow someone's salty

**Eric** 3:46pm

i

I'm not fucking salty, I'm losing my fucking patience cuz I asked you cunts to get over here more than half hour ago and how many of you are here

NONEthats how FUXKNG many

**Kenny** 3:46pm

I already told u that kyles still at practice

Jesus Christ u really r touchy this week

**Stan** 3:46pm

No need to get your panties in a twist Cartman lol

I'll be there if it'll stop your bitching

Just FYI I'm bringing dad's gun just in case you try anything

**Eric** 3:48pm

Lmao u think Randy's pathetic little pussy pistol scares me

**Stan** 3:48pm

Lol then I'll borrow butters dad's assault rifle

**Eric** 3:48pm

wEak

**Stan** 3:48pm

Lols wtv

it's your death not mine lol

Should I bring butter

*Butters

**Eric** 3:49pm

Why would u bring him

Don't u think there's a fucking reason I didn't include him in the chat

Use ur dumbass brain retard

**Stan** 3:51pm

Geez!

I was just asking god

**Kenny** 3:51pm

U don't want Leopold there what a surprise

**Stan** 3:51pm

Thought we agreed to include Leopold in our group activities lol

Don't want to go HAM on us like last time lol

**Kenny** 3:51pm

Ya bro leopold walks a fine line between Dalai Lama and Charles manson lollll

**Eric** 3:51pm

Stop calling him leopold

**Kenny** 3:52pm

Leopold

Leipold

*Leopold

Leopole

*Leopoll

*Leopold

**Eric** 3:52pm

Kenny I swear I will kill you

Anyways doichebags its all part of the plan

Don't even tell him ur coming here

Stanley

**Stan** 3:53pm

You're killing me with the secrecy here Cartman

**Kenny** 3:56pm

I on he other hand

am already dead

Lolololilll

* * *

It takes the three gaywads a while, but they all finally end up at Cartman's house. Stan and Kyle exchange worried looks as Cartman waves them up the stairs. Cartman rarely invites anyone upstairs anymore, except Butters, who is the only one he trusts not to mess with his possessions.

When Cartman opens the door to his bedroom, Kyle immediately halts. "No way in hell, I am not going within ten feet of the pigsty where you roll around in your own filth at night, Cartman."

"Don't talk to me about filth, you dirty fucking Jew! You know what the American soldiers saw in Auschwitz, now _that _was a fucking pigsty with Jews rolling around in their own shit—"

"They weren't rolling, you fucking _monster_! They were—starving! Dying! Being tortured by your all so wonderful _German— _"

Stan pinches the bridge of his nose; he does that so often that it's surprising he doesn't have an actual bruise there. "Are you two seriously doing this again?"

Kyle spins like a top and turns on his boyfriend. "_Us_ two? He's the one started it with his Holocaust-denying bullshit!"

"Ay, I didn't deny that it happened! I just don't get why everyone makes such a big deal out of it! They were just Jew—"

"Shut up the hell up, Cartman," Stan interrupts hastily, legitimately concerned that Kyle's head will explode from rage. "Come on, Kyle, you know what Cartman's like. It's not like his opinion is worth a damn, so it's not worth riling up your pretty head over it." Cartman scoffs loudly. Stan turns back to Cartman with a glare. "Let's just get this over with so we can get the hell out of here. I swear, Cartman, if there's any funny business…" Stan pulls a handgun out of his jacket pocket threateningly.

Kenny whistles appreciatively. "Don't worry Cartman. I'll protect you," he laughs, voice dripping in sarcasm.

Cartman rolls his eyes, unwilling to admit that he's a little impressed that Stan actually followed through on his threat. What a nice, fuzzy little group of friends they are. "I _said _Randy's pussy pistol doesn't scare me, Stan. What happened to Mr. Stotch's big bad rifle?"

Stan cracks a small smile, and just like that, the tension is broken again. "How was I supposed to ask Butters for it without letting him know I was coming here? Besides, it's not like Butters would let me have it, anyway. I think Mr. Stotch would literally kill him with it—or worse, ground him _again_."

An uncomfortable silence briefly settles over the group. Stephen Stotch is far from their favorite adult in South Park, and it's not even like his competition is all that great, either.

Ultimately, it's Kenny who moves first, leading the way into Cartman's room. Kyle still looks extremely reluctant, but ultimately follows on Stan's tails.

Once they're all inside, Cartman closes, bolts, and padlocks his door. Kenny rolls his eyes at Cartman's paranoia, but Stan and Kyle are immediately on edge.

"You do realize that you can unlock these from the inside, right?" Cartman huffs. "It's not like you're trapped here. This is just to keep anyone from coming in."

"Yeah, you're really helping your case here, fatass," Kyle says.

"Trust me, you don't want my mom walking in on us," Cartman explains.

"...Walk in on us?" Stan asks nervously.

"What the hell is going on?" Kyle demands.

Cartman doesn't reply them. He walks to the bed and sits down on it heavily. Kyle doesn't understand how the damn thing hasn't fucking collapsed from all these years of supporting Cartman's fat. Cartman pulls out his phone and starts scrolling through it while his three friends awkwardly stand around the bed, staring at him.

"Well, make yourselves comfortable," he says without looking up at them.

Stan and Kyle and don't budge, but Kenny shrugs and takes off his parka. He's about to toss it on the bed when Cartman holds up his hand to stop him.

"Not on the bed, McCormick," the brunet snaps. "I don't need your poor people germs all over my sheets."

"Fuck you, Cartman," Kenny glares, his voice unmuffled for once. He takes his parka and very deliberately walks over to Cartman's wardrobe. He tosses his oversized orange jacket atop a pile of Cartman's clothes.

"Son of a bitch!" Cartman complains. "Those were clean, too. Now I'm gonna have to do laundry."

"Yeah..._clean _," Stan snickers, making air quotes.

"You should be thanking Kenny for giving you an excuse to wash your stinking clothes for once," Kyle adds, smirking crookedly.

Cartman flips them all the bird, but allows them this small victory so as not to get too sidetracked from the task at hand. He's a master at feigning nonchalance, but in truth, he's a bit queasy about what's about to happen.

He puts down his phone. "Okay, you guys, look, okay? Before you say anything, know that I am doing this entirely for your benefit, because you're my best friends and I love you guys."

"Oh?" Stan scoffs. "This is totally not suspicious at all…"

"Okay, okay. Listen to me closely, okay? Lean in a little closer, uh huh, yeah, just like that." Cartman takes a deep breath. "Okay. I need all of you to take off your pants."

"Wh—_what _?" Kyle screeches.

"Hell no!" Stan says emphatically. Then his eyes widen as Kenny stands up and starts unbuckling his belt. "Kenny, what the hell?"

Kenny shrugs nonchalantly, shimmying his way out of his jeans. "I don't really have anything to lose here," he points out. "You and Kyle have eyes only for each other, and it's not like Cartman's gonna want to get anywhere near my 'poor person germs' anyway."

"Yeah, listen to Kenny for once," Cartman nods. "And relax, there'll be no touching. Of each other. I swear, if you and Kyle get faggy on my floor I will—"

"Of each _other_?" Kyle yells.

"Yeah, _Kyle_. Just, pull out your _own _dick, okay? I know it's hard for you faggots to control but just _one_ dick per person."

"Okay, _now_ this is a little weird," Kenny admits.

"Wait, wait, wait," Kyle says, holding up both hands. "Are you seriously telling us you want to compare dick sizes, Cartman? With _your _chode?" Kyle throws his fiery head back and laughs. "Aren't we a little too old for this shit?"

"I do _not _have a fucking _chode_, Kyle!" Cartman protests indignantly. "And I don't want to compare dick sizes. I want you to jerk off."

Because Cartman has finally figured it out. He is only so damn affected by _Butters's _video because he _knows_ Butters in real life. Those dickheads in the pornos? They mean nothing to him—not that Butters holds that much significance to him either! But if he was forced to spend every day at school with one of those porn stars—sit through lunch with them, listen to Stedman's boring lectures with them, have them badger him incessantly with concerns about his well-being, whilst continuing to act like Cartman had never seen their dicks before—well, of course that would screw with his mind!

And thus, the only way to reverse the—how would Kyle put it?—ah yes, the, erm, _gay arousal polarity_, would be to get the rest of his friends to beat it for him as well. Even out the playing field. Of course, Cartman would've preferred _not_ to have to watch _any _of his friends masturbate, but Butters had forced his hand (literally and figuratively). Fucking Butters.

A beat of silence follows Cartman's announcement, followed by an inhumanly deafening screech only Kyle could possibly be capable of producing.

"_WHAT_?"

"It's all part of becoming a man, Kyle—it's all part of the ritual. This is a bonding exercise. This is the next level shit after comparing dick sizes. You gotta jerk off for your best friends," Cartman explains levelly. "You know, you see who does it best, see who lasts the longest, and all that. And as your manliest friend—" he puffs out his broad chest proudly— "it only makes sense that I oversee your rite of passage."

"I call _bullshit_!" Kyle yells. "Like you know anything about manliness, you, you—you're just a fat, whiny, overgrown kindergartener is what you are!"

"Like you know anything about anything, you fucking Jew!"

"That again. So fucking original, Cartman! I definitely know that this is a pile of bull crap! You're just a perverted fat fuck! Like hell I'm enabling your sick fantasies!"

"_Fantasies_? Please, like I have any interest in your circumcised Jewish cock! I already told you, this is for _your _benefit, not mine!"

"Stop saying that like it's some kind of anomaly! You're circumcised too!" Kyle spits, throwing his hands into the air. "That's also not remotely the point! How could you lock us in your room and ask us masturbate in front of you and say it's for OUR benefit?"

"I could've asked you asses to come individually, you know—but I was thoughtful enough to consider that you'd be more comfortable doing it around your sex slave—" Cartman points at Stan—"and the South Park slut." He points at Kenny with his other hand. "And you aren't locked in here, Kyle, I already told you that, but since your Jewish brain can't retain any information apparently, I'll say it again: this—" he gestures at the padlocked door— "is just to keep anyone from coming _in_. Go ahead and leave if you're such a pussy!"

And to finish off his tirade, Cartman crosses his arms and juts out his bottom lip slightly in a defiant pout. Stan and Kenny exchange looks; that pose is entirely Butters's, and it looks alien on a brute like Cartman. They wouldn't have thought it possible, but it looks like Butters has rubbed off on Cartman, just a little bit. Neither of them bring it up, though, lest Cartman literally murder them and somehow make it look like suicide.

Kyle, however, is too riled to notice. "Yes, I _am _leaving, but not because I'm a _pussy_, it's because I'm not completely fucked up like you are. Jesus, I can't believe you interrupted basketball practice and wasted all of our time for your delinquent perversions. Remind me never to give a fuck about a single word coming out of your mouth, ever again. C'mon, Stan." He marches over to the door and starts messing with the lock.

Stan, however, doesn't follow immediately. Seeing Cartman adopt one of Butters's signature poses made him think of something. "Not that I buy your bullshit story, Cartman, but if you really wanted us to feel 'comfortable' with each other, then why the fuck isn't Butters here? In fact, why were so you adamant that Butters _not _be here?"

Cartman hesitates for a little too long, and this time, even Kyle notices. "Yeah, fatass, you're normally abnormally obsessed about getting Butters involved in your Satanic schemes."

"Why would I want that limp dick pooping our party?" Cartman argues defensively. "Little virgin probably hasn't even touched his own nipples before. His stupidity would just make all of us uncomfortable—_what_?" He asks the three pairs of severely skeptical eyes.

"First of all, bullshit," Stan says. "I'd rather die, but if you put a gun to my fucking head and told me to jerk off, I'd be least uncomfortable doing it in front of Butters. Kyle, you don't count," he adds quickly, shooting an apologetic look at his boyfriend. "I just meant like, outside people, y'know? And Butters doesn't judge. At least, not out loud he doesn't."

Kyle looks contemplative for a moment, then nods, conceding Stan's point.

"Second of all," Stan continues, "bull_-fucking_-shit. Butters is sixteen like the rest of us, and even on the off chance that he hasn't touched himself before, _you _always take a certain sick pleasure in breaking his innocence, Cartman, in the worst fucking way possible."

Before Cartman gets the chance to put up a defense, flimsy as it might have been, Kyle gasps loudly.

"You motherfucker!" the ginger accuses. "You totally made him do it for you already, didn't you! You knew that we would stop him, or tell him that it's wrong, which is why you were so adamant about him not coming here!"

"Not true, Kyle!"

"That makes you a sexual predator, fatass! You're basically a rapist!"

"I never touched that little fag!"

"You might as well have, _rapist_!"

"Look, I didn't ask him to do anything, okay! If he wasn't such a horny little motherfucker—"

"Ha!" Stan cries. "Earlier you said Butters probably hasn't touched his own nipples before, but now you call him horny!"

"And before you say anything, ignorance doesn't mean consent, Cartman!" Kyle adds. "In fact, this is fucking worse. This is like pedophilia!"

"You guys are totally blowing this out of proportion! He didn't even know—"

"Didn't know _what_?"

_That I was there _, Cartman finishes silently. He purses his lips, cursing himself for letting that slip. For once, Cartman is not guilty of their accusations. Well, not all of them. Yes, he _did _watch Butters masturbate, but he didn't _make _Butters do it, and the little virgin had _clearly _known what he was doing without _any _help from Cartman at all. But it's not like he can tell them any of that.

Kyle finally succeeds in prying the padlock open, and slams open Cartman's bedroom door with a _bang _. Stan quickly stands up and follows him.

"Stay away from Butters, you sick piece of shit," the black-haired teen warns.

"I'm warning you, Cartman, if you pull this shit again, I will seriously cut off your dick and…" Kyle pauses for a moment, unsure how to follow up that threat. "...I was gonna say feed it to you, but you'd probably enjoy that too much, since you seem to like eating garbage."

The volatile couple then dramatically stomps away, making a hellish racket on their way down the stairs. "You could've closed the damn door, asswipes!" Cartman shouts after them. "And I'll have you know that I am a motherfucking connoisseur of food!"

The slamming of the front door of the Cartman residence can be heard in response.

"Sons of bitches," Cartman harrumphs moodily. He clambers off his bed and slams his bedroom door shut again. It's only when he's turned back around that he realizes, with a start, that Kenny is still there, sitting on the floor in naught but a T-shirt and boxers. "What the fuck, Kenny. You're still here?"

Kenny smirks. That seems to be all the bastard does these days—smirks like he knows everything. "Kyle and Stan mean well," he says. "But they're too hot headed to realize that you're the kind of person who'd rob a grave to steal all the riches inside, but not to fuck the corpse."

"Mind speaking in the English language?" Cartman says. "Not everyone can understand your poor-person lingo."

Kenny rolls his eyes at the weak insult. "You're a manipulative fuck and a terrible person to boot, but you're not a rapist. I'd even venture to say you have a pretty healthy _dis_interest in sex, at least compared to your penchant for hurting and murdering people. In fact, aren't you and Butters the only virgins left out of the five of us?"

"I'm not a virgin!" Cartman splutters hotly, though his red face gives him away. "And why are you grouping me with _Butters_, of all virgins?"

"It's okay, _Eric_, Butters doesn't _judge_," Kenny singsongs, echoing Stan's words. "And I can understand why you wouldn't want Butters to get, hm—_tainted_, shall we say, by this little party."

"Wait, that's not why I—"

"—And that's also why, as the most knowledgeable about sex out of all your friends, I'd be more than happy to do this—_ahem—" _Kenny clears his throat to stifle a laugh— "favor for you."

Cartman has more than a problem with half the things Kenny just said, but his protests die on his tongue when he comprehends what Kenny is implying. "What...really?" he says, sounding subdued for once.

"Yeah, sure, I'd love to help the oh-so-great Cartman become a man," Kenny says.

"I'm more of a man than you'll ever be," Cartman grumbles, but there's not much heat behind his words.

Kenny stands up, hooks his fingers into the waistband of his boxers, smiles in that sultry way that's somehow gotten half of South Park to bend over for him. Cartman doesn't understand the phenomenon; however good Kenny feels up the ass can't possibly make up for the bitch smirk he wears like he thinks he's rich or something.

"So, you gonna do this too or what?" Kenny asks. "I mean, if this is anything like comparing dicks, I'm gonna need another dick to compare to."

Cartman pauses for a moment. His first instinct is to refuse. But the point of this entire exercise is to graduate from beating off to Butters, and like it or not, Kenny is the key to the diploma. The quicker Cartman gets this out of the way, the quicker he can reverse the dick polarity or whatever the fuck it was that he'd decided to call this, and go back to his normal life. Besides, it wouldn't be gay because Kenny is _Kenny _; the bastard is barely human as it is, right? And despite Kenny's reputation of sleeping around, the boy doesn't kiss and tell. Half of the people who _say _they've slept with the McCormick are probably just trying to show off to their friends, and the only way anybody knows Kenny isn't a complete bluff is because no one's penis can have _that _good reputation without some serious truth to it. Cartman knows that word of this will never get out. It's not even like he's planning to have sex with Kenny, anyway.

"Yeah, whatever," Cartman concedes, hands moving reluctantly to his fly.

Kenny smiles, and for once it looks genuine. With one swift motion, Kenny tugs down his boxers and tosses them into a corner.

Cartman stares at Kenny's bared form. It's awfully strange to see Kenny half-naked, considering that barely half of his fucking face can be seen most of the time. Still, Cartman finds himself a little underwhelmed by the oh-so-infamous "hot bod". Despite Kenny's blond hair and blue eyes, he lacks the Aryan refinement possessed by those like...Butters. Kenny's skin is pale, because his parka is probably thick enough to protect him from fucking radiation (though Kenny would probably still find a way to die), let alone sunburns. Still, Kenny's natural complexion is a shade darker than Butters's, more of a pleasant peach than the latter's marble white. His legs are covered in a fine fuzz the same dirty blond shade as the hair on his head, and while most bitches seem to find that particular aspect rugged and handsome, Cartman just finds it dirty-looking.

Kenny walks back over to Cartman's wardrobe and digs around the pockets of his parka. He pulls out his phone and a bottle of lube; Cartman is unsurprised that Kenny carries lube on his person. Fucking slut.

In the meantime, Cartman has unzipped his pants and pulled his cock into his hand. Like hell is he undressing all the way like some prostitute, like Kenny almost has. Cartman glances at Kenny's schlong and is miffed by the fact that he and Kenny are roughly the same size. Not that Kenny is small—it's just that Cartman's..._rotund _physique makes his dick seem smaller in comparison with the rest of him. Cartman hates that he's always felt a little self-conscious about the fact, and he resents that Kenny can parade around in near-nakedness with such confidence.

Kenny raises his eyebrows when he sees Cartman's dick, but doesn't comment. "Mind if I put on some porn?"

"Can't you use your own fucking imagination?" Cartman snips. _ That's what Butters did, _an unwelcome inner voice adds.

Kenny laughs. "Dude, creativity really isn't my strong suit."

"Fine, do what you want," the brunet sighs. He really wants to just get this over with already. Just standing around like this in his bedroom with Kenny is getting really awkward, really fast.

Kenny starts playing some loud, heterosexual porno. "Dude, look at those titties," the blond purrs appreciatively, turning his phone around to show Cartman the screen. Both the man and woman are dark haired, and Cartman finds himself immediately disinterested.

"They're so fucking fake," Cartman deadpans, referring to the tits and the actors' loud moans both. Kenny shrugs as he pours a generous amount of lube directly onto his cock and starts stroking. Despite his lazy pace, the blond hardens up pretty quickly. _Figures_, Cartman thinks, _it_ _must come with being a goddamn slut_.

Cartman, on the other hand, is having a hard time getting a hard on at all, which, considering how this week has been playing out so far, is a first. His cock only feebly comes to life even after he strokes it twice as hard and fast as Kenny. That sleazy look on Kenny's face as he watches his goddamn porno is turning Cartman off faster than a fucking salad. _ Unlike Butters, who'd been intense, yet innocent. _

"Oh yeah, baby, that's really hot," Kenny says, his eyes still glued to his screen. The actress in the video screams fakely, and Cartman can hear her pussy squelching as it takes the guy's dick. Kenny continues to moan his appreciation, and Cartman wonders if Kenny is doing it just to be a dickhead, or if he's legitimately this loud when he jerks off.

"Dude, can you shut the fuck up?" Cartman snaps when he can't take it any longer.

"Huh?" Kenny looks up as if he's only just realizing that Cartman's in the same room. "Oh, sorry, yeah," he smirks unabashedly. "I'll zip it."

And just like that, Kenny turns his motormouth off like a switch, and Cartman knows for certain now that Kenny was just being loud to annoy him._ Butters basically talked nonstop too, but it wasn't fake or deliberate like Kenny, he was rambling like he couldn't control it— _

In an attempt to turn his attention away from Butters _yet again_, Cartman focuses his attention on Kenny's hand. There's no doubt that Kenny is a pro, considering the way his fingers push and pull at his dick, occasionally lathering attention to the slit at the head and to his balls. But...it's lazy and boring, Cartman realizes.

"Can you speed the fuck up?" Cartman asks impatiently before he can stop himself.

Kenny looks up again and cocks an eyebrow at Cartman's barely-half-hard dick. "Yeah, sure," the blond replies, making brief eye contact with the brunet.

And Kenny speeds up, his breaths growing a little shorter and beads of perspiration blossoming on his forehead and neck. Cartman observes him closely, and it takes him a moment to figure out exactly what Kenny is missing: _passion_. But he can't exactly ask Kenny to have more "passion" without sounding like an idiot, so he purses his lips in silence.

Frustrated, Cartman wraps his fist around his cock so tightly that it actually hurts. To his surprise, the pain actually gives him the first spout of real arousal all afternoon. He never would've pegged himself a masochist. _The way Butters was holding his dick looked like it hurt, too— _Cartman digs his nails into his cock and bites his lip in appreciation—

Cartman barely gets two good strokes out of his finally fully hard dick when Kenny pants, "Shit Cartman, I'm gonna—"

Kenny tosses his phone onto the bed and hurries to the trash can by the bathroom door. He spills his seed atop Cartman's discarded candy wrappers and empty bags of potato chips. It's all terribly anticlimactic. _Butters had a lot more creamy goo_, Cartman thinks.

Kenny turns around with cum all over his hand. His face is flushed pink with satisfaction. Still grasping his dick, the blond strides over to Cartman's nightstand like he owns the place and takes a couple of tissue papers to wipe himself off. "Whoo! That was a good one," he says in a painfully chipper tone. Then he looks down at Cartman's cock. "Well, looks like you lasted longer than me," Kenny chuckles mockingly. "Were we supposed to finish together? I can keep going if you want?"

Suddenly, all Cartman can see is red. Kenny was supposed to help him, but the slut's already finished himself off and the revolution of Cartman's thoughts around Butters still hasn't changed its orbit one bit. His boner deflates in his rage, and he shoves it back inside his pants. Cartman straightens himself up to his full height, which, combined with his girth, he knows is massive and intimidating.

"Get the fuck out, you fucking whore," he growls. He's already putting the pieces together in his head. Kenny acted just like those dickheads in the pornos, which is precisely why his display didn't help Cartman in the slightest. If anything, Cartman's more frustrated now than he has been all week, which is _really _saying something, considering that the frustration levels this week have already been off the charts.

Annoyingly, Kenny doesn't seem at all shocked or scared by Cartman's sudden change in behavior. At an almost lazy pace, Kenny starts picking up his scattered articles of clothing from off the floor. "Hope I helped," he says as he pulls his boxers back on. "I gotta say, though, Cartman, you certainly are picky."

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Well, first you wanted me to use my imagination, then you thought I was being too loud, and then I was being too slow. Geez, so needy. You're just like a girl, you know?"

"Shut the fuck up! You were just being an irritating little bitch on purpose!"

"It's not like you told me there were gonna be requisites," Kenny retorts with a shrug. "Thought this was just some ritual we were supposed to get over with."

"It was!"

"It's okay," Kenny says placatingly, like he's talking to a child. He pulls on his pants and starts threading his belt through the loops. "There's nothing wrong with knowing what you like. Titties are what really do it for me, y'know? Especially those big ones, even if they're fake."

"That's—totally lame! Shut up!" Cartman yells, disgusted.

"Sometimes we figure out these things through process of elimination, and I guess I've been eliminated from your...wish list. I wish I could say I'm sorry, but you're really not my type, Cartman."

"After today, I don't even want to ever see your dirty bitch ass again, much less touch you with a hundred-foot pole!"

Kenny finally finishes dressing. He pulls up the hood of his parka, then leans in really close to Cartman's face so that their noses nearly touch.

"I'm sure _Leopold_ wouldn't mind using his imagination, you know," he says in his muffled yet completely comprehensible voice. "For the...ritual, of course."

Kenny winks, then turns on his heel and strides out of Cartman's bedroom, leaving the brunet sitting alone of his bed, completely speechless. Cartman suddenly realizes that he's already balls deep in this and it might be too late to pull out without consequence.

Whatever _this _is.

...And maybe dick polarity doesn't exist after all.

* * *

_A/N: Kyle is totally the type who writes text messages with perfect grammar and spelling. Stan overuses "lol", and Kenny just likes being an annoying shit _

_FYI, I think Kenny is as hot as a chili pepper, but Cartman is biased against him because whether he realizes it or not, his heart's already being held hostage by another blond ;) Also, Kenny totally realizes this and is doing his best to give Cartman a "nudge" in the right direction. I'd argue that Kenny's methods are questionable, though. Horny teenage boys *sigh*_

_Writing this made it seem like I have some kind of fetish for pale blond boys lol. That's all Cartman! I generally prefers my men dark-haired in real life lol!_

_P.S. Cross-posted on AO3 (just posted Chapter 5 there)_


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